Dragons and Mead: A Tale of Drinking, Tavern Wenches and Bloody Battle
by genericdarkoverlord
Summary: When Jagen Shoord, Redguard adventurer and sellsword, finds out he is the Dragonborn of legend, he sets out on the adventure of a lifetime to save Nirn, drown his sorrows in mead, slay dragons of myth, and discover the wonders of Nordic tavern girls expert in polishing a weary man's sword.
1. Chapter 1

_My second Skyrim fanfiction peice. All characters belong to Bethesda and all content written about belong to Bethesda. Reveiws and comments are greatly apprieciated._

 **CHAPTER ONE: FINALLY AWAKE**

Jagen woke suddenly, pain coursing through his shoulders and neck. He looked around, the cold wind whipping his long, dreadlocked hair about and making his dark brown eyes water.

"Ah, Redguard. You're finally awake."

The speaker sat opposite him, a fair haired Nord in a battered blue cuirass. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked into that Imperial ambush same as us, and that thief over there."

A shivering man in ragged clothing glared at the blonde Nord. "Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you I'd have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." The thief looked over at Jagen. "You there. You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." The horse thief's voice was ragged and whiny, like his clothes.

"Well, we're all brothers and sisters in binds now, horse thief" The blonde man looked mildly amused by the thiefs outburst, and opened his mouth to say something else, but the Imperial driving the cart turned his head over his shoulder and shouted:

"Shut up back there!"

Silence dominated the scene for a while, the only sound the rattling of the carts wheels and the sound of horse hooves hitting the stones. Jagen looked to the man sitting next to him. An imposing figure, even in his bound state, with a scrap of cloth tied around his mouth. Stony eyes glared out at the world under long brown hair swept back over his forehead. A huge fur cloak covered his shoulders and spilled out onto the cart's floor. Bloody hell, thought Jagen, what have I got myself into this time?

The horse thief glanced at the gagged man. "What's wrong with him, huh?"

His voice harsh, the Nordic man retaliated. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, true High King of Skyrim!"

"Ulfric? Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion.. If they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?" The horse thief's voice had reached new levels of whining, and Jagen would've punched his moronic face if his hands weren't bound.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits"

"No, this can't be happening! It isn't happening!"

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?" The Nord's voice was softer now.

"Why do you care?" came the sharp retort.

"Because a Nord's last thought should be of home"

"Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead" The horse thief sounded on the verge of tears. Looking at him, Jagen was suprised that he'd even managed to make it this far without breaking down into a gibbering mess.

The horse-cart clattered through the entrance to a small town, bristling with Imperials armed with bows, and swords. A tall man in ornate armour, a red cloak whipping in the wind, stood watching the proceedings. Jagen just about heard the Imperial next to him speak over the wind.

"General Tullius sir! The headsman is waiting!"

The red cloaked man replied.

"Good. Let's get this over with"

NOW the horse thief descended into a gibbering mess.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh! Divines, please help me!"

Shor's bones, Jagen was practically itching to hit the silly bastard. "Face your death without pissing yourself _,_ horse thief" Jagen spoke up, his voice growling from the lack of hydration. The horse thief just stared at the Redguard, quite probably too busy pissing himself.

The Nord whipped his head round to look at the General. "Look at him! General Tullius, the Military. And it looks like the Thalmar are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this. This is Helgen... I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in... funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

Despite his steadfast expression, Jagen's heart began to beat a little faster. He'd always been a rogueish character, selling his skill with swords and other pointy instruments of death to the highest bidder, and adventuring into forgotten tombs, and drinking his liver to tatters in the taverns of Hammerfell. However one thing Jagen had not been, was someone who enjoyed the prospect of being beheaded. He bloody _liked_ his head. He looked up at the sky, grey and rainy. How typical of Skyrim. He'd barely been in the province six months, and already he was being sent to the block.

Jagen's thoughts were scattered as the cart jerked to a stop. An Imperial woman clad in steel plates and a crested helmet looked up at the prisoners impassively. Two other carts clattered up to next to Jagen.

"Get those prisoners out of the cart!"

Jagen glanced over at the Nord. His face was expressionless.

"Why are we stopping?" The horse thief had spoken up again.

"Why do you think? End of the line... Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." The blonde Nord stood to his full height and jumped down from the cart, Ulfric Stormcloak following, then the horse thief and finally, with a sense of resignation, Jagen.

The horse thief was now physically shaking, like a frightened sweet roll. "Wait, no! We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief" muttered the Nord. Jagen was inclined to agree.

"You've got to tell them we weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

The woman in steel spoke up. "Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!"

Rolling his eyes, the Nord looked over at Jagen with a sardonic look on his face. "Empire loves their damn lists"

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm!"

"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric" the Nord whispered under his breath.

"Ralof of Riverwood" the Nord, now known to Jagen as Ralof, stepped forward and gave Jagen a parting nod. The cold wind had seeped into Jagen's very bones. To be honest, being killed right now would at least stop the cold, thought Jagen.

"Lokir of Rorikstead"

The horse thief stepped forward. "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Breaking into a run, Lokir sprinted away from the Imperials, but was promptly stopped by an arrow between the shoulder blades. He skidded on his face for a bit and stopped.

Jagen's first thought was "At least that whining excuse for skeever shit isn't bothering me anymore" His second thought was "Oh bollocks, it's me next."

The Imperial with the list stared at him. "You there. Step forward. Who... are you?"

Jagen cleared his throat with some difficulty. "Uh, Jagen Shoord"

"Redguard aye? What are you, a sellsword? A sailor from Stros M'kai? Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list"

The captain looked at Jagen. "Forget the list. He goes to the block." Jagen raised his eyebrows.

"An Imperial ignoring the list? By the Eight Divines, what's going on?" Jagen was rewarded for his sarcasm with a smack on the cheek with the flat of the captain's sword.

"By your orders Captain. I'm sorry. We'll make sure you remains are returned to Hammerfell."

Yeah bloody likely. More like dumped in the nearest river to be eaten by slaughterfish. Jagen hadn't had too much experience with Imperials, but he'd developed a hearty dislike for them already. He moved next to Ralof and stared bleakly at the block.

General Tullius stepped up to Ulfric, but the effect was lost because Ulfric was easily a foot taller than the General.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp the throne"

Ulfric just stared at the silly little man in his little red cloak and growled like a wolf. Not the most eloquent of replies, thought Jagen, but there's only so much a man can say when he has an old rag in his mouth.

"You started this war, flung skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."

That's unlikely, thought Jagen. More likely is the Empire will continue to be fucking idiots with their bloody lists and stupid armor. I mean who wears armor with no trousers in Skyrim? What kind of idiot do you have to be to think that's a good idea?

A roar echoed out of the sky, far off but bloody loud, like a giant having a shouting match with a troll. Everyone looked up into the sky, confused and slightly frightened. I mean, if you hear something that loud you don't want it anywhere near you, no thank you.

"What was that?"

"It's nothing. Carry on!" barked Tullius.

"Yes General Tullius!" replied the Captain. "Priestess! Give them their last rites!"

A priestess in cowl and robes raised her arms to the skies. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you-

-For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with!" The Stormcloak soldier first to the block marched over to the headsman and knelt down. "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials, can you say the same?" He spat out his last sentence as the axe smashed his neck in two and sent his head into the basket in front of him. His body slumped to the side and was dragged away.

Ralof looked at his body sadly. "As fearless in death as he was in life."

"Next, the Redguard!"

The Imperial in front of the block looked up as the roar sounded again, this time louder. "There it is again..."

"I said, next prisoner!" shouted the Imperial Captain impatiently. I bet she hasn't been fucked in a while with a temper like that, Jagen thought. Not that I'd put anything in her aside from an axe.

"To the block, nice and easy, prisoner."

Jagen walked slowly to the block, and knelt to it. He turned his head to look at the axeman and tried to think of something clever to say. "You have lovely eyes" The axeman frowned and raised his axe. As the axe made its journey towards Jagen's exposed neck, a huge black shape emerged from a cloud, and settled on the tower behind the axeman like a gigantic raven. Screams erupted all around, and the creature roared.

"DRAGON!" The shout went up.

The dragon roared again, this time it's roar became tangible and knocked the axeman and Jagen over.

"Redguard! Follow me, the gods won't give us another chance!" Ralof was standing in front of Jagen, somehow unbound. Jagen really didn't need telling twice, and launched himself up. Ralof and Jagen sprinted towards the tower left of the block, fire and chaos raining quite literally around them. Together, they shouldered the door opened and jumped through, just as a wave of fire swept past the space they had just been in. Jagen turned around to be faced by Ulfric Stormcloak. Now Jagen was a tall bloke, 6 foot 5, maybe 6 foot 6. Ulfric towered at roughly 6 foot 8. Ulfric pushed him aside and looked at Ralof.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Ralof, legends don't burn down villages" Jarl Ulfric's voice was a deep baritone, and tinged with power. Ralof moved to say something, but was interrupted by a deafening roar.

"We need to move, now!" Ralof and Jagen ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. A Stormcloak soldier was knelt by a pile of rubble, trying to move it. A dull thud of wings shook the air. "Get back!" Ralof shouted in Jagen's ear as he grabbed his collar and yanked him back. The wall behind the Stormcloak soldier exploded and the dragons black, scaly maw opened wide and bathed the man in flames. He fell wailing out of the tower, flesh seared from his bones. "See that inn on the other side? Jump to it! I'll follow when I can!"

Jagen looked suspiciously at the space between tower and inn. He'd usually been one for entering inns via front door, not roof but these were what his mother used to call Circumstances. He tensed his legs and sprang the gap, stumbling and nearly landing on his face. He sprinted down the collapsing stairs and out into the burning village. The Imperial list-reader glanced at him.

"Still alive prisoner? Stick with me if you want to stay that way!" They ran together past a man on fire, a woman with no legs, and a suprisingly calm looking dog who had singed fur. The keep loomed up in the distance, just as Ralof sprinted out of a fallen house.

"Hadvar! You're not capturing us now!" Ralof clutched an axe in his blackened hand and did not look afraid to use it. Jagen approved; arm oneself as soon as you can.

"Ralof you damn traitor! I hope the dragon takes you all to Sovngarde! Come on prisoner!" Hadvar ran towards the side door of the keep as Jagen scoffed and turned to accompany Ralof. Like hell was he going to go with an Imperial.

Inside the keep it was relatively unscathed, aside from the dead man in the corner who Ralof was knelt next to.

"You're in Sovngarde now my brother. Hey, Redguard. You'd better take Gunjar's gear, he won't be needing it anymore"

"Yeah, hold on, I need to catch my breath." Jagen leaned against the wall. It wasn't easy running with tied hands.

"Oh yeah, your bindings. Come here, I'll cut them for you." Ralof pulled a short dagger from his belt and motioned to Jagen's wrists. Offering his bindings to Ralof, he waited as the Nord sawed at them. Shit, he thought, I'm alive. Jagen grinned and clapped Ralof on the shoulder.

"Cheers, Nord, I owe you a drink."

Ralof chuckled "Ah well I'll have to hold you to that once we get out of this hellhole! Now get that gear on, we best be off!"

Jagen pulled the cuirass off the body. He didn't really have any qualms about relieving the newly-dead of their belongings, sometimes it had to be done, and an adventurer couldn't be picky about these things. The axe on Gunjar's belt was picked up and the weight tested.

"Damn. The doors locked, we'll have to find another way." Jagen looked up at Ralof, who was speaking about the resolutely locked iron door.

"Bugger. Well we could try the gate over there." Jagen jerked his head at the steel gate opposite the locked door. Just as the two were peering at the door they heard voices, and footsteps.

"Imperials! And they're coming this way! Take cover, we'll get them by suprise" Ralof took up one side of the door, and Jagen the other.

Jagen thought he could hear the voice of the Imperial Captain. He'd enjoy slapping her with his blade, except not the flat of it. As the gate swung open and they stepped in, Ralof and Jagen were upon them like wolves.

The first Imperial brought his sword up and parried Ralof's axe blow, but was kneed in the cock and axed in the shoulder. As he lay writhing on the ground Ralof brought his axe down on the man's neck and finished him. The Imperial Captain caught Jagen's punch with one hand and tried to bring her sword down on his wrist, but he twisted away and smacked her cheek with the back of his axe. She rolled with the blow and slashed her sword up Jagen's leg, who'd moved his axe handle in the way. The sword lodged in the wood, and was stuck. Now unarmed, Jagen brought fire to his palms and pressed them against the Captain's face until she was still.

"Good fight" said Ralof, nodding at Jagen's handiwork. "Now one of them must have the key for the door"

Jagen relieved the Captain of her steel bracers, preferring something solid to block a sword strike with, and found a key on her belt.

"This is probably it" he said, holding it up. It was indeed the key for the door, and they both made their way deeper into the bowels of the keep.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO: MEAD AT LAST**

Ralof pulled a torch off the wall, the flickering light making his face seem otherwordly.  
"Keep your axe ready, we don't know how many Imperials are down here" His voice echoed in the dank stone corridor. They began to make their way down the corridor, but again, the thud of wings heralded the dragon's arrival. There was a scream, a roar and a crash as the ceiling in front of them collapsed. The two jumped backwards, taken by suprise.  
"That dragon just doesn't give up, does it?" Ralof laughed in the darkness. "Guess we'll have to go this way" He motioned at the iron door next to them.  
The room inside was warm, lit by a flickering fire. Various animals hung from the ceiling next to bundles of garlic and frost mirriam. Two Imperials turned their heads at the sound of the door and drew their weapons.  
"Stormcloaks!" One shouted, brandishing his sword.  
"I'm not actually a Stormcloak" replied Jagen, as he buried his axe in the Imperials skull, cleaving through his leather helmet like butter. The other Stormcloak fell to the ground, blinded by the sweep of Ralof's torch, and was promptly dispatched, axe opening his stomach and spilling his intestines like orange snakes.  
"Take any potions you find, we'll need them. I'll keep watch by the door" Ralof took up a defensive position next to the door, axe poised to cleave the first Imperial who walked in. 

Several barrels had healing potions, and a few strength draughts. A bottle of mead was found, and pocketed by Jagen. No use wasting good booze. When the room had been emptied of potions, and more importantly, mead, Ralof and Jagen made their way down the long flight of stairs. Shouts and the sound of discharging magic echoed up the stairwell, and the two fugitives hurried down to join the fight.  
"By the gods, it's a torture room" Ralof looked disgusted. "Imperial dogs"  
Jagen jumped the last few stairs and looked at the fighting. Two Imperials, one slashing with a dagger, and one blasting lightening from his palms, were pushing back two Stormcloaks. The Imperials seemed to be winning, but that changed with Jagen melted one of the Imperials with his flames. The Imperial wielding lightening appeared to be the torturer, and Ralof rounded on him with a snarl. He hacked at the man's wrists as lightening flickered over his fingers and palms. A second strike to the face put him down. Ralof spat on the downed Imperial and looked at the Stormcloaks.

"Shield brother, sister"  
They nodded back. The woman, holding a battleaxe looked at Jagen.  
"Is he with us?"  
Ralof clapped Jagen on the arm.

"Not a Stormcloak, but he saved my life."  
"Good enough for me" The woman smiled at Jagen and hefted her battleaxe onto her shoulder.

"Let's go. We should stick together"  
The four made their way deeper, down more stairs. Ralof turned to the others. "Imperials ahead, I think! Move quietly, and then charge. We'll take the bastard milk drinkers by suprise!"  
The Imperials were taken by suprise, like a snow fox being eaten by a dragon and not noticing. The first two fell to Ralof's charge and fell to the floor, various limbs missing and gouting blood. The archers drew and nocked their bows, the first was set on fire and gutted by Jagen, and the second quite literally cut in half by the Nord woman's battleaxe. Ralof looked around at the carnage. "Right. You two stay here, me and, uh Jagen will scout ahead for more Imperials."  
The corridor ahead lead to a wooden bridge that creaked ominously as the two walked over it. A rumbling noise made them look up in alarm and masonry crashed down, crushing the bridge and blocking the way back.  
"No way back now. I'm sure the other two will find a way out"  
"It's a bloody big cave. We'll have to watch out for cave bears." Jagen had had many a bad experience venturing into dark caves and running back out five minutes later, chased by angry bears.  
After several minutes of walking, the two came to an opening in the narrow tunnel; a huge cavern with webs covering most of the surface. As they stepped foot in the cavern, various leggy horrors emerged from holes in the walls and ceiling. Frostbite spiders.  
"Oh, shit! Talos' arse!" Ralof fell backwards in terror as a particularly large specimen landed in front of him gnashing its fangs. Jagen rushed over, flames licking his wrists and billowing out from his palms. The spider scuttled backwards, fearing the bright light and heat. Jagen backed slowly towards the tunnel.  
"Ralof! Get behind me!" The two men backed away slowly, Ralof brandishing his torch, and Jagen keeping the hungry arachnids at bay with his magical fire. It was all going well, or as best as it can when you're in a dark cave with lots of oversized spiders creeping towards you, when Jagen's magicka reserves ran dry.  
"Uh, Ralof..." The spiders, no longer faced with lots of fire, began to advance. "FUCKING RUN!"  
Both scrambled for the exit tunnel and hurled themselves through, running until the cave was a distance behind and the scuttling sounds had stopped.  
"I hate those things. Too many legs, you know? Ralof looked slightly paler than usual.  
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Jagen shivered at the thought of all those legs scrambling over his body. "Let's keep moving, we don't want them catching up with us"  
They came to a fork in the road, one way blocked by a collapse, the other lit by a flickering brazier. A skeleton lay next to it, a pouch clasped in it's hands. Ralof stopped.  
"A coin purse. Take it, we'll need the gold when we get out of here" Jagen prised the bag from the bony hands and put in his pocket.  
Continuing along the tunnel, they came to another cavern, this one thankfully empty of spiders and webs. Abruptly, Ralof stuck his arm out, and Jagen smacked into it.  
"What? More spiders?" Jagen looked around nervously, summoning fire./p  
"No, no, just a bear. I don't want to mess with her right now, so let's sneak around her."  
The bear slept soundly as the men tiptoed around her sleeping figure. A chilly wind whistled though the tunnel.  
"Look! A way out! I emknew /emwe'd make it!" Ralof and Jagen rushed to the blinding light of the outside world, eager for fresh air.  
They stood by the cave entrance, faces raised and eyes closed as the refreshing air filled their lungs and quite literally blew out the cobwebs. All of a sudden, a deafening roar echoed across the mountains. Fresh air forgotten, Jagen threw himself under a rock, and looked over at Ralof, who had hidden himself in the foliage of a bush, fear in his blue eyes. Very slowly, Jagen inched out from the rock and looked at the sky. A huge, black winged shape circled a mountain once, and flew off until it was a tiny speck in the distance. Jagen let himself flop to the ground, and swore.  
"Fuck me with a spriggan's taproot! What was that thing?"  
"A dragon no doubt" Ralof dusted himself off. "Harbingers of the end times." They were both silent in contemplation for a while, and then Ralof looked around. "My sister, Gerdur, lives in a village near here. I'm sure she'd help us out, she'd never turn a blind eye to someone in need. Come on, I'll take you there."  
They walked a few minutes in silence before Ralof spoke up again. "You should go to Windhelm and join the Stormcloaks. You've seen the true face of the Empire today, and we need more brave men like you"  
"Perhaps" returned Jagen. "I'd have to think it over. I've never really been one for soldiering, although let it not be said I don't love a good fight!" Ralof laughed at this. "Well I hope you decide to join. It'd be good to fight next to you again, friend"  
"That it would be"  
It was getting dark by the time Ralof and Jagen got to Riverwood. Weary, covered in soot and bruises, they trudged to the small house that belonged to Gerdur. A blonde woman in a worn apron opened the door./p  
"Ralof! By the gods, what has happened to you?" She had a thicker Nordic accent than Ralof, and bright blue eyes.  
"Gerdur... I'm fine. At least now I am"  
"Are you hurt? What's happened?" She looked at Jagen. "And who's this? One of your comrades?"  
p style="text-align: left;"Ralof smiled at this "Not a comrade yet...but a friend. I owe him my life, in fact. Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials..."  
Gerdur frowned at this. "Helgen? Has something happened...? You're right. Follow me. Hod! Come here a minute. I need your help with something."  
A stocky man with braids in his short hair warming his hands by the fire looked round. "What is it, woman? Sven drunk on the job again?"  
"Hod. Just come here."  
Hod noticed Ralof and his craggy face broke into a grin. "Ralof! What are you doing here?"  
As if from nowhere, a small boy with messy blonde hair appeared behind Gerdur.

"Uncle Ralof! Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?"  
Gerdur snapped. "Hush, Frodnar. This is no time for your games. Go and watch the south road. Find us if you see any Imperial soldiers coming."  
"Aw, mama, I want to stay and talk with uncle Ralof!"  
Ralof, seeing his assistance was needed, cleared his throat and ruffled Frodnar's hair. "Look at you, almost a grown man! Won't be long before you'll be joining the fight yourself!" Frodnar beamed up at Ralof and saluted him.  
"That's right! Don't worry uncle Ralof, I won't let those soldiers sneak up on you!" He ran off, down to the south entrance. Gerdur watched him go, a smile on her lips. "Ah, children."  
Jagen felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him and leant against the wooden wall, trying to keep his eyes open. He wanted a tankard of mead, a leg of beef, and a warm bed. Hod finished by the fire and joined the conversation, his ale belly straining at the grubby white overshirt he wore.  
"Now, Ralof, what's going on? You two look pretty well done in." His eyes caught on the cuts on Jagen and Ralof's forearms and faces.  
Ralof spoke in a weary voice. "I can't remember the last time I slept. Where to start? Well, the news you heard about Ulfric was true. The Imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing. Like they knew exactly where we'd be. That was...two days ago, now. We stopped at Helgen this morning, and I thought it was all over. Had us lined up for the headsman's block and ready to start chopping!"  
"The cowards!" Gerdur snarled in anger. Well, at least I won't be captured again if people are like this about the Empire here, thought Jagen tiredly. Even his thoughts felt like a drunk dragging himself back home after a heavy night out at the local inn. His thoughts were interrupted by Ralof continuing his story. "They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trial. Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would have seen the truth then! But then...out of nowhere...a dragon attacked."  
Gerdur and Hod both gasped in shock. "You don't mean a real, live..."  
"I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there! As strange as it sounds, we'd be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion, we managed to slip away. Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?" Ralof pushed back his hair and rubbed his eyes.  
"Nobody has come up the south road today, as far as I know."  
"Good. Maybe we can lay up for a while. I'd hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but..."  
"Nonsense. You and your friend are welcome to stay as long as you need. Let me worry about the Imperials. Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine." Gerdur glanced over at Jagen. "Here's the key to the house. Stay as long as you like. There's something you can do for me. For all of us. We need to send word to Jarl Balgruuf to send whatever troops he can. Riverwood is defenseless. If you do that for me, I'll be in your debt."  
Jagen tried not to yawn. "Yes, of course, I'll leave for Whiterun in the morning."  
"Thanks, sister. I knew I could count on you." Ralof pulled his sister into a bearhug.  
"Ralof!" Gerdur laughed and pushed him off. "I have things to be done"  
"I'll let them into the house and, you know, show them where everything is." Hod spoke up quickly. Gerdur turned around and fixed him with a Look. Jagen knew all about Looks and had recieved many from various women. He did not envy Hod, as a Look is an awful thing to be fixed with.

"Hhmm. Help them drink up our mead, you mean." Gerdur turned to Ralof again "Good luck, brother. I'll see you later."  
"Don't worry about me. I know how to lay low." Ralof turned to Jagen. "So, where are you staying tonight?"  
Jagen pulled out his coin purse and counted his money. "I'll probably just stay at the inn tonight, I'll set off for Whiterun in the morning"  
Ralof nodded, and thought for a second; "Jagen. I'll be heading off early for Windhelm tomorrow morning, and I won't be seeing you for a while" He punched Jagen in the arm playfully "Fight well my friend" Jagen grinned and gave him a shove. "Try not to be eaten by wolves aye?"

The inn Jagen stayed at was called the Sleeping Giant. A few people sat around the fire or on benches, drinking and eating. Soft music came from the corner; a young man sat with a lute in his arms and sung. It smelt of woodsmoke and cooking food. Jagen's stomach rumbled, he hadn't eaten a solid meal in days. "I'd like a pint of ale, and some soup please" He counted out the money and placed them on the counter. The man behind the bar gave him a look. "You're new here. We don't get many visitors, on account of the bandits. I'm Orgnar, by the way"  
"Oh, er, I'm just passing through" Jagen gave the man a smile. It might be an idea to withhold the fact he was a fugitive who'd just escaped execution.  
"Well, if you're looking for supplies Lucan will sell you some. He owns the general goods store. And if you want weapons and armor, go to our blacksmith Alvor." Jagen nodded in thanks and took his soup and ale. The chairs by the fire were comfortable, and Jagen let the flames warm him as he ate. Tomorrow he would go to Whiterun, but before that he needed to stock up on supplies, and get some armor. The cuirass was worn, bloodstained, and it'd probably be a bad idea to walk around in Stormcloak gear with the current political tensions. 

Downing the last of his ale, Jagen placed the empty bowl and tankard on the bar. "Also, I'd like to rent a room."  
Orgnar took the crockery and pointed to a door on the right. "That'll be ten septims"

Jagen sat on the bed and began to uncloth. The boots were practically stuck to his feet with mud and sweat, and the coarse material of the cuirass had rubbed his skin raw. The blankets practically swallowed him up and he allowed himself to fall deeply asleep, like a Khajiit off it's head on skooma. 

"Bandits!" The shout awoke Jagen. He could hear shouts and the sound of fighting outside. Orgnar burst through the door and shook Jagen. 

"Redguard! Wake up! We're under attack from bandits!" 

Fuck bollocks shit boots on, cuirass buckled axe axe where's the bloody axe?

Jagen sprinted outside, all thoughts of sleep gone. It was chaos. People were running left and right, dogs barking and children screaming. Orgnar drew a vicious looking mace from his belt.  
"This way Redguard! We have to fight them off!" Jagen and Orgnar ran towards the sound of the battle, weapons ready. Several bandits stood by the Riverwood Trader, two loading sacks full of supplies and the other two fighting off villagers. Jagen ran at the tallest; a musclebound orc in a studded vest, wielding a hefty looking hammer. His first strike glanced off the vest, and his second was stopped by the orc grabbing his axe handle and snapping it in two like a twig. Jagen jumped backwards as the orc swung his hammer down to where his head was, and tripped over a root. He crashed to the floor, the breath driven out of him from the fall. The orc stood over him and hefted his hammer, and brought it above his head. Just like Helgen, Jagen thought to himself as the hammer began it's descent towards his face. Just before it crushed his skull like an apple Jagen rolled to the side, and pulled out his dagger. Without looking up, he shoved it into the orc and felt it sink hilt deep into the flesh. The orc roared, and Jagen leapt to his feet. The dagger stuck out of the orcs groin, blood running in rivulets over the handle. Seizing the opportunity, Jagen punched the orc in the face; a solid right hook. He followed up with a kick to the dagger, twisting it in the orc's now minced cock. On his knees, the orc bellowed in pain; Jagen grabbed the hammer on the ground and buried it in the orc's face. It caved inward and little spatters of brain matter and blood decorated Jagen's already filthy cuirass  
Seeing the death of their leader, the remaining bandits dropped their stolen goods and ran from the village, one falling on his face, an arrow stuck firmly in his neck. The villagers all cheered and began to clap Jagen. Gerdur ran over to him.  
"Oh thank you! With Ralof gone to Windhelm I thought we'd have all been killed!"  
"Ah, it's really nothing. I wouldn't stand and watch you all be slaughtered by stinking bandits."  
Jagen felt a heavy hand hit his shoulder, and the smell of burning metal and coals hit his nostrils. A man, presumably the blacksmith, stood behind him./p  
"Aye lad, that was some good fightin' there. But look at your armor! You need something that'll stop a blade." The blacksmith disappeared for a second, and returned with an armful of metal plates. "Iron armor, forged by me. It's nothin' fancy but it'll stop a blade from going in yer gut"  
"Bloody hell, thank you!" Jagen grinned at the blacksmith, and winced when his bruised face twinged. "And, er, how much will this be?"  
The blacksmith frowned at him. "Lad, after savin' our village, I'm not going to charge you for some bloody armor! By the Nine!"  
"Gerdur poked him in the chest jokingly. "Now off with you, you've got a Jarl to talk to!"  
Jagen got changed back in his rented room at the Sleeping Giant, and strolled out in his new gear. His chest was protected by a solid plate of iron, and his lower back and stomach by a vest of chainmail over a leather jerkin. His forearms were clad in moulded plates of iron buckled over cloth, and iron shin guards buckled over a pair of sturdy leather boots. Now he looked the part. He slung his axe on the loop around his belt, and cracked his knuckles. Off to Whiterun!  
Aside from a few wolves, the walk to Whiterun was long but not dangerous. He walked past a few farmsteads by the river, and past the stables where the horse master nodded a greeting at him. Guards watched him carefully as he walked up the road and over the drawbridge. Huge, wooden doors reinforced with iron nails announced the entrance to the city. As Jagen walked up to the doors, a guard stepped forward, drawing his sword. "Stop! Entrance to the city is banned."  
"Why's that?" Jagen didn't have time for this.  
"My orders" came the stony reply.  
"Well" replied Jagen "You can either open this door now, or there'll be trouble. I'm here on urgent business to see the Jarl!"  
"Very well, but if I find out you're lying to me..."  
"Yeah yeah whatever. Now open the gate!"  
The sound was the first thing that hit him; hundreds of people talking at once, arguing, haggling. Then came the smell. Fresh food, the sharp smell of animal muck, the smell of the blacksmith, the scent of unwashed bodies. Bloody hell. He grabbed the person nearest to him.  
"Excuse me, I need to find the Jarl. Do you know where he is?"  
A young woman looked up at him. "Well, I don't know what business someone like you would have with the Jarl, but he lives in Dragonsreach, the hall up there"  
Jagen followed the direction of her finger with his eyes. An imposing building made of wood towered over the rest of the city, balconies and windows glinting in the morning sun. "Thank you" said Jagen, and made his way through the throng of people. He went past the marketplace and up more flights of stairs. "Bloody hell" he said, panting, because it wasn't easy climbing lots of stairs when you have a load of metal strapped to you.  
"You think this place has lots of stairs? Wait til you see Markarth" A young man laughed and continued past him down the stairs.  
After what felt like hours of climbing in the heat, Jagen ascended the final step and leaned against a post.  
"Iron ey? Good armor, simple but stops the blade" A guard looked at Jagen appraisingly from behind a helmet.  
"Aye, that it is" he replied, and pushed open the doors of Dragonsreach. 


End file.
